


Missed Communication

by Weavillain



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Video Chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weavillain/pseuds/Weavillain
Summary: Ronnie Anne and Lincoln's latest video chat leaves a lot on the table, after a dropped call gets in the way of what Lincoln was trying to relay to his friend. But surely...surely Lincoln didn't mean..."that", did he?





	1. Chapter 1

There was a short list of things that Ronnie Anne wanted to do with her Sunday: completing school assignments, grinding down a few rails on her skateboard, watch some old wrestling highlights from Payne & Suffering, video chatting with Lincoln, enjoy a refreshing popsicle, and if none of those things suited her, a good ol' fashioned light nap would do the trick.

Listening to her uncle, Carlos, droning on about his latest knowledge-sought fixation did  _not_  make the list; not on Sunday and not on  _any_  day.

But, not one to mind his immediate surroundings, Carlos Casagrande took it upon himself to sporadically enrich his clearly reluctant family of his latest fascination, and before Ronnie Anne could hope to enjoy the rare quiet in the privacy of her bedroom, he had barged in on her, plopped down on the side of her bed, and began excitedly rambling on about some really crazy Roman emperor as he read the information from one of his treasured textbooks.

Though she was quick to groan, a groused utterance that her uncle was blissfully unaware of, she desperately clung onto the hope that he would be finished soon enough.

* * *

_Three hours later…_

"…and that, my dear niece, is how the short-lived reign of the mad Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, or Caligula, came to an end." He closed the textbook, placed it on his lap, and looked behind him to see Ronnie Anne staring catonically at the ceiling. "A most fascinating biographical perusal about the tyranny of an insane dictator, wouldn't you agree?"

A frown appeared on his once elated face at the lack of response. His grin returned when an "astute" observation popped in his head.

"Ah, she must be dwelling on the enriching history behind one of ancient Rome's most fearsome rulers," he said to himself. "I sense a scholar's life in her future."

He got up, opening his textbook to read from it as he stood. "Well then, I'm off to offer C.J. some assistance with his homework. You be sure to take care of yours, too."

With that, he walked away, his attention focused on the pages in front of him…

…and paid the price for his inattentiveness when he walked into the wall next to the open door instead of  _through_  it.

He took a few seconds of reprieve to gain his bearings, as he straightened his askew glasses and rubbed at his sore nose.

"How'd that get there?" he asked out loud as he successfully walked through, closing the door behind him.

The door shutting snapped Ronnie Anne out of her stupor.

"Whazzahuh?" she muttered intelligibly.

Groaning as she sat up, she wiped the streak of drool away from her mouth, and gave herself a few quick slaps on her cheeks to perk herself up.

' _Yeeeeeeep. Uncle Carlos will do that to you,'_  Ronnie Anne thought miserably as she glanced over at her open laptop, stationed on the top of her fridge, and flinched when she spotted the time at the bottom right corner of the screen.

6:23 PM. It had been three whole hours since her spontaneous seminar and she felt ticked off at all the time that was wasted. Oh sure, she knew her uncle just couldn't help himself, and it wasn't like he was intending to be a nuisance, but with times like these, times where her new life in Chicago felt like it was overwhelming her, there was one person she knew that could help her.

But right now, she didn't need a plan or coping mechanism, per se, just a sympathetic ear.

And if there was one thing (among many others) that Ronnie Anne liked about Lincoln, it was his ability to offer his deepest of sympathies…

…even if he could be just a  _little_ too saccharine for her own tastes, at times.

* * *

" _Three_  hours?!" Lincoln cried, grimacing at the horrors that Ronnie Anne had just brought to his attention through their video chat. "Gosh, that sounds awful!"

"It  _felt_  even longer; three days, to be exact," Ronnie Anne said grumbly as she set aside the laptop between her legs instead of next to one of them. "And I thought the boring lessons were supposed to be meant for  _school_."

"I'm just glad Lisa never drones on that long with  _her_  lectures," Lincoln said. He left it at that, as if he were finished, but an incident came to him. "Although, there was this one time where she was trying to get me to appreciate one of Beethoven's symphonies, so she went on this super, and I mean,  _super_  long tangent about how he-"

"Uhhhhh," Ronnie Anne groaned dramatically as she clutched her temples, "my head. Make it stop, make it  _stooooop_."

She was only half-joking, but one quick look at Lincoln told her that he had taken her plight more seriously than he intended.

"Sorry, Lincoln," Ronnie Anne said, smiling to ensure her comfort, "I just really don't want to be in a spot where I have to hear someone talk for too long. I've had enough of that today."

"Right, I'm sorry," Lincoln said, his mood barely improved. "I didn't mean to make you suffer."

Ronnie Anne sneered. "Okay, you don't have to be so overdramatic about it, ya dweeb."

"Hey!" Lincoln retorted, glaring softly. "I'm just trying to be nice!"

Ronnie Anne chuckled. Long distance bantering was almost as fun as doing it in person. "Yeah, but sometimes, there's such a thing as being a little  _too_  nice. You could stand to have a little bit of grit to you, you know. You're as soft as a marshmallow."

Lincoln returned a sneer of his own, finding eagerness in accepting the implied challenge of her accusation. "Oh, you think I don't have grit, do you?! Well, just last week, Rusty dared me to eat an entire tray of slugs for ten bucks. Well, not only did I eat every last slug, but I also didn't puke once." He paused to rub his knuckles against his chest while flashing a slug-eating grin. "And I did it without chewing; I just slurped them down like the gritty man that I am."

"Okay, I said 'grit' not 'grossness'," Ronnie Anne countered, quirking an eyebrow and folding her arms.

Lincoln sighed, shook his head, and chuckled. "There's just no winning with you, is there?"

"Nope."

Her bluntness made them  _both_  laugh, and in the moment, Ronnie Anne was besides herself. She couldn't care less about her wasted time now that Lincoln was here…well, as close to here as he could physically be. The reason why was simple and the revelation that she'd keep towards her chest; with Lincoln, there was no such thing as wasted time.

About ten seconds in and the laughter ceased when Ronnie Anne heard her grandmother, calling out for the family to join her for the dinner that she made. Ronnie Anne wasn't about to keep her waiting; Rosa Casagrande was not going to let anyone get out of eating her meals in a timely manner because doing so was just as good as spitting on her food.

"I think I hear grandma calling us for dinner," Ronnie Anne said. "Do you mind if we talk later, after I eat?"

As she got up from her bed, she waited for an understanding reply of, "Sure. Okay then," but got a hasty, "Wait!" instead.

"There's, uh, something I want to tell you first," Lincoln said.

"What's it about?" Ronnie Anne asked, the thought of her nagging grandmother in the back of her head.

"Well…um…" Lincoln bashfully looked away and rubbed at his left arm. If Ronnie Anne's perfect 20/20 vision wasn't deceiving her, she could also see his cheeks brightening with pink. "I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I didn't want to do it earlier, since I was afraid about how you'd react to it."

His timidity didn't have the chance to be called out on, as it gave way to a hardened, determined expression that looked back at her. "But it needs to be said. I've put it off long enough and I should've told you before you moved to Chicago.  _Way_  before."

Ronnie Anne leaned closer, her curiosity extremely piqued.

"Ronnie Anne…" A deep breath broke through his monologue, "…I love y-"

_*DING*_

Before another word could be said, the call dropped; the still image of Lincoln's face was the last thing that an utterly stupefied, shocked Ronnie Anne saw before it was swapped out for the generic profile picture of a gray human-shaped silhouette.

All Ronnie Anne could do, as her body refused to even twitch a single muscle fiber, was think about to the context of the situation and what was going to be spelled out to her; the reason behind his initial diffidence (his fear of a negative response), his renewed courage (his sense of duty to see his task through to the end), and his words, oh, his words:

" _Ronnie Anne…I love y-"_

"What?!" Ronnie Anne shrieked at the lack of closure. "What was he gonna say?! Yogurt?! Yoga?! Yodeling?! What was it?!"

Those alternatives were offered in panicked haste, a desperate scramble to find a comforting answer to fill in the blanks. But countless "y-" words later (except for  _that_ one) and Ronnie Anne still wasn't any closer to securing herself in the knowledge that Lincoln wasn't about to say…say…

A fiery blush consumed her face as she fell back on her bed. "You've gotta be kidding me."

It may not have been said in full but was there any real doubt about it now? Was there any chance that within the context of his stymied declaration, that he could've meant anything other than  _that_?

She was just going to have to accept things for they were; for better or worse (though Ronnie Anne was quick to latch onto "worse" immediately), Lincoln…Lincoln Loud  _loved_  her.


	2. Chapter 2

Like she dreaded, after she finally showed up at the dinner table eight minutes after being called, she was given an earful by Rosa, who was nearly hysterical by the end of her rant about "children these days" and their unappreciation of a piping hot meal.

But still, not even  _that_  could detract her mind from Lincoln's astonishing disclosure; the blatant, yet unfinished, confession that left her unable to process his words in any way that aligned with what she  _thought_ she'd ever expect from the boy.

Lincoln? In love with  _her_? Why her? How did he become smitten by her? When did it all happen?

But even more urgent than  _those_  curiosities was the one burning question that dominated her thoughts, letting her go through the motions of eating dinner with her noisy, extended family better than she had ever done before:

' _How am I supposed to tell him that I don't feel the same way?'_

Sighing quietly, Ronnie Anne simply munched on her churro as she brainstormed for a way,  _any_ way, that she could avert wounding Lincoln's feelings while getting her own feelings across to him as smoothly as possible.

* * *

By the time she was done cleaning her dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, Ronnie Anne had finished accumulating a list of people who could help her get out of this mess. As much as she dreaded the awkward confrontation of her next inevitable chit-chat with Lincoln, she knew that she had to be ready to do  _something_  about him and his feelings.

For whatever reason, despite the earlier disruption being something that neither of them had counted on, Lincoln hadn't called her back to explain what was happening; not even a text graced the screen of her phone after she checked to see if he had done so.

It was a mercy she'd thank for the rest of her days. Now, she'd have time to get a plan together after speaking with her only reliable aide; her list had three confidants but after mulling their dependability in the matter over, she had whittled them down to one.

Bobby was running the bodega right now, so there was no way he'd be able to help her even if he wanted to.

Her mother, as kind as she was, wasn't going to give her the answer that she both wanted  _and_  needed. She frowned as she could practically hear her words of "wisdom" in her head about how she'd simply have to let him know the truth by "letting him down gently".  _'Yeah, as if rejection can be taken gently. No thanks, Mom.'_

That only left her with one option, and as Ronnie Anne stood outside her bedroom and knocked on her door, she knew she'd have to endure Carlota's usual hasty and rather annoying expectations, all of them related to getting a makeover or a wardrobe change, of what her visit entailed. Even though she wouldn't exactly call Carlota her favorite cousin, she felt that she was at least "hip" enough to understand that such a useless cliché like "letting him down gently" wasn't the right move, especially since Lincoln wasn't just some random boy about to profess his love. No, he was a friend…

…okay, a (kinda) cute friend—who was also a funny guy (in a dorky way, at least), an attentive soul, and a good kisser—but still a  _friend_  and one that she wanted to keep as one.

She wanted things to be the way they were  _now_. It was hard enough to accept the change of her big move but Lincoln, her best friend, pining for her like a lovesick puppy? Just the thought of it made her cringe. Besides, even if she felt the same way for Lincoln, what could she do about it? They weren't even in the same state anymore and she found the prospect of a long-distance relationship both pointless and unsatisfying.

As she fretted over her quandary, she didn't notice Carlota's bedroom door swinging open until it nearly hit her in the face. Taking a step back, just in the nick of time, she waited for her cousin, like clockwork, to act all giddy as could be as she thought about all the ways she could doll up her little cousin.

"Ronnie Anne!" Carlota exclaimed happily.

Ronnie Anne just grumbled under her breath and let herself get dragged inside by the arm. She sat on Carlota's bed while Carlota shut the door. Much to Ronnie Anne's dismay, Carlota turned around to reveal that she was even more enthusiastic than just a few seconds before.

"You finally want me to do something about that ponytail, right?" she asked.

Ronnie Anne shook her head. "No, Carlota, I-"

"I mean, I've always thought it was kinda limp, like lettuce that's gone bad, y'know?"

Ronnie Anne gaped at the blunt remark before an insulted frown etched on her face. "Okay, for  _one_  thing, I-"

"Oh, but a bun?" Carlota pondered as the gears turned in her head. "Now  _that's_  gonna look way cuter!"

"Come on, Carlota, I'm just trying to-"

"Just let me get my bobby pins!"

Before Carlota could so much as take a step towards her closet, Ronnie Anne quickly blocked her off, her arms spread out.

"No! No bobby pins!"

To Ronnie Anne's relief, her  _own_  bluntness seemed to finally get across to Carlota, evident by her disappointed frown.

"So, you  _don't_  want a bun, then?"

Ronnie Anne smiled. Finally, they were getting somewhe-

"Okay then," a determined Carlota said as she tapped her chin, "how about-" Ronnie Anne's foot stomp derailed her train of thought.

"No!" Ronnie Anne exclaimed. "No buns, no pigtails, no weaves, no braids! I'm not here about my hair, which, by the way, is  _fine_ , thank you!"

Carlota only needed a few seconds to recover from the shock of Ronnie Anne's outburst and once she did, could see that she couldn't be wrapped up in her own agenda anymore. Seeing that her cousin required help with matters that were apparently even  _bigger_  than a fashion disaster in need of a fix, Carlota nodded sympathetically.

"I see," she said in a serious tone as she shuffled over to her bed and sat down. "Then, what'd you need me for?" she asked as Ronnie Anne joined her.

The stage was set but even then, Ronnie Anne felt unable to simply say it, even in the simplest of terms. How else was she supposed to try to start off talking about this scandalous problem  _without_  Carlota teasing her about her about her supposed romantic relationship with Lincoln?

She looked back at Carlota's expectant gaze and realized that she really didn't have much of a choice. It was either this or the brusque truth approach, which would only end with her friendship with Lincoln becoming a non-entity once he stopped talking to her, after his tender heart shattered into a million pieces. To avoid all of that, a little embarrassment  _now_  would be worth missing out on a lot of heartache and misery  _later_.

"It's…" she began, feeling her cheeks turn pink, "…it's about a boy."

The admission, as vague as it was, was still substantial enough for Carlota, and an over-the-moon one at that, to fit everything into place.

"It's that Lincoln kid, isn't it?!" she squealed.

When words failed to come out, Ronnie Anne just looked down in her lap and nodded, her blush creeping further across her face.

"Oooooooh, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" Carlota cried, rocking a little back and forth before she composed herself. "Lemme guess, you're trying to get his attention because you're worried he'll start thinking about other girls while you're here? Well, have I got just the makeover for…"

She caught her blunder before Ronnie Anne could shoot her a dirty look. "Oh, right," she said, ending with a nervous chuckle. "You're not here for  _that_  kind of help."

Taking a steadying breath, to cleanse herself of any residual giddiness, Carlota asked, "Okay then, what's got you so worried?"

The question forced Ronnie Anne to think about a good starting point. At first, she considered just spitting out what Lincoln was going to say right off the bat, but as she thought about it further, she supposed that any side of a story needed to be started from the beginning…

Well, she wouldn't go as far back as her uncle's three-hour lecture. Carlota didn't deserve to be punished.

* * *

By the time she was done with her story, Ronnie Anne waited on pins and needles for Carlota's opinion, which was taking far too long for her liking (even if she had been only waiting about ten seconds). After about another couple of seconds, Carlota spoke her mind.

"So basically, you're freaked out because even though you don't know  _exactly_  what he was going to say, you have a pretty good guess that he was about to say that he loves you?"

Ronnie Anne sighed wearily. "Yeah. I mean, what  _else_  could it be?"

What Carlota said next rendered Ronnie Anne flabbergasted.

"So, from what I'm getting from this is, there's really no problem."

Ronnie Anne's temper flared. "No problem?!" she cried. "Didn't you hear what I  _just_  said?!"

Unfazed, Carlota retained her smile. "Of course, I did."

"And the fact that he was practically about to confess his love for me doesn't register as a major problem to you?!"

"No," Carlota said. "Why would it?"

Ronnie Anne tousled her hands furiously through her hair, letting loose a few strands in the process. "What do you mean 'why would it'?!" she snapped. "I can't have Lincoln loving me!"

She only grew madder when Carlota just waved off her indignation with a cheeky grin and a chuckle.

"Why not? Don't you love him, too?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Pssh. As if," Carlota sneered as she rolled her eyes.

Ronnie Anne dug her fists into her hips and snarled. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means I'm not buying what you're selling."

Carlota's words, the sincerity behind them more than the words themselves, made Ronnie Anne's temper ebb enough for her to dwell on them.

Carlota  _wasn't_ just trying to get under her skin. She was being honest with her estimation of her feelings and even though they didn't come close to love for Lincoln, she had to at least admit that he was the only boy she would ever consider dating…in the near future, of course.  _Maybe._

And really, could she deny that at least a tiny bit of amorous affection went into that kind of selective decision?

"Come on," Carlota continued, "do you really think no one notices the way you act whenever you video chat with him? You're practically over the moon when you get the free time to do it. No girl acts like  _that_ about just any old guy friend; he's got to mean something special to her."

When Ronnie Anne didn't move, her little cousin locked in a state of brooding, she slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in a bit closer.

"Okay, fine, so maybe you don't  _love_  him," she said with reconsideration in mind, "but you at least  _like_  him just a little bit, don't you?"

"Well…" she looked up at Carlota and nodded bashfully, "…k-kinda, yeah."

"See?"

"Okay, but I don't  _love_  him, though," Ronnie Anne said firmly. "And this isn't just about how  _I_  feel, it's about how Lincoln feels. If he loves me, what the heck am I supposed to do about that? What am I gonna do the next time I talk to him? How am I supposed to let him down without hurting his feelings? What if he doesn't want to talk to me ever again? What if…"

Ronnie Anne trailed off with a sigh and hung her head, her shoulders slumping along. Carlota responded by softly running her hand over her head, eliciting a happy murmur from the girl.

"Look, Ronnie Anne," Carlota said softly, "I think the most important, and only, thing you have to do is lay down the law; respond to Lincoln on  _your_  own terms. If you don't love him, you don't love him. Just be honest."

And there it was. It may have not had the same effect as "letting him down gently" but it was synonymous enough to deflate Ronnie Anne's hopes for a quick and easy fix.

Dejected, Ronnie Anne pulled away with a sudden jerk and fell backwards on the bed, ignoring Carlota's concerned expression.

That was it, then. She was plumb out of options now and the only one that she got was the obvious but equally as painful option of just telling Lincoln the truth. Like ripping of a band-aid from an old wound, there would be pain no matter how she approached it; a sharp yank (getting right to the point) or a slow, methodical peel (beating around the bush before delivering the bad news).

"I guess you're right," Ronnie Anne said, sliding off the bed and planting her feet on the floor. "Thanks, Carlota. Goodnight."

With that, she somberly trudged towards the door, intent on trying to get a good night's sleep before worrying herself silly over what she'd have to do tomorrow; for once, school seemed like the least of her problems on a Monday.

"Ronnie Anne?"

Ronnie Anne stopped before she could reach out for the doorknob. She looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with Carlota, who looked like she had a final piece of advice for her.

"Before you say anything to him, let Lincoln get his feelings off his chest, first. I'm sure he worked up a lot of courage to even  _think_  about confessing. It wouldn't be right to deprive him."

Ronnie Anne nodded. "You got it."

Now, all she could do was hope that sleep would come to her soon and she could-

"Oh, but are you  _absolutely_  sure you need that ponytail in your life?" Carlota said in a chipper, playful tone. "I mean, I've got a whole catalog of hairstyles that work way better than-"

"Good _night_ , Carlota."


	3. Chapter 3

_The next day…_

"So, it was Lisa, huh?"

She should've figured that the four-year-old prodigy had something to do with that dropped call. She couldn't be too miffed at her (toddlers, even geniuses, struggled with the concept of restraint), but judging from Lincoln's current demeanor, a half-frown and an irritated tone expressing his frustration from the ordeal, she couldn't imagine that he felt the same way as her.

' _Guess it makes sense,_ ' Ronnie Anne thought as she waited for Lincoln to elaborate.  _'I'd be ticked off if anything got in the way of my love confession.'_

Not that she could relate to anything she had ever done…or  _thought_  about doing with anyone any time soon, especially with a certain white-haired boy. Nuh-uh.  _Deeeeefinitely_  not crossing that bridge.

"Yep," Lincoln said as he rested an arm on his desk and laid the side of his head against his open palm. "We just got our power back a few hours ago. Her new plug-in power generator knocked out the electricity in the entire neighborhood. Apparently, she just  _had_  to get her fully-automated robot lab assistant up and running when we were talking yesterday. Sorry I couldn't just reach you with my cellphone. I would've but mine was low on battery and my sisters needed theirs while we didn't have power; as you can probably guess, Lori was the first to use up all her cellphone's battery."

The quip only managed to get a tiny chuckle from Ronnie Anne. Not even involuntary reactions (well, besides her slightly rapid heartbeat and sweaty palms) seemed plausible when the pressure of such a bothersome predicament wasn't as out in the open as she thought it should be.

Why hadn't Lincoln said anything about…"it" yet? Did he have cold feet? Did he realize that his feelings weren't what they thought?

And more importantly, why did  _that_  possibility seem…a little disappointing?

"Hey, Lincoln?" Ronnie Anne asked, deciding to avoid venturing down that particular avenue of self-reflection.

"Yeah?"

"I remember you saying that you wanted to tell me something important yesterday. Remember?"

A grin, the first one he had had since their video chat had begun, spread across his face. Ronnie Anne told herself that those "butterflies in her belly" was just indigestion.

"I was about to get around to saying that, actually," Lincoln said before he cleared his throat, donning the same serious face he had on yesterday. "Well, like I said, I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but…"

Ronnie Anne's fingers curled into shaky fists. Her heartbeat only got that much faster as her "indigestion" panged through her gut and settled in her chest.  _'This is it.'_

"Ronnie Anne…"

She swallowed as she closed her eyes.  _'Here it comes.'_

"…I love your waffles."

Immediately, Ronnie Anne spluttered, coughing on the sharp, involuntary intake of air she just sucked in.

"You okay, Ronnie Anne?" Lincoln asked, quirking an eyebrow in confusion to the reaction.

Ronnie Anne just held a finger up while she coughed a few more times. Once she was finished, her hastily stammered, "E-excuse me?" felt revolting seconds after she said it; she did  _not_  need to sound desperate for a misunderstanding on what she clearly heard, especially when she was supposed to be thrilled at her own misinterpretation of Lincoln's cut-off message.

So, why in Sam Hill, wasn't she?!

"Your waffles," Lincoln said, leaning back in his chair and flashing a smile. "They're really good. Thanks for giving me the recipe. I can't imagine starting off my morning without a plate of that golden brown, fluffy goodness. You're a really awesome cook."

"So…" Ronnie Anne said, her umbrage not repressed enough to conceal the tiny cracks in her armor "…yesterday, you were going to tell me that you loved…my  _waffles_?"

"Uh-huh," Lincoln said, none the wiser.

"I see."

…

…

…

" _ **WAFFLES?!**_ "

Lincoln yelped and flinched back from not only the spike in volume but from the seething glare and bared teeth from Ronnie Anne, who had her face closer to the screen—almost as if she was ready to pounce through the screen and start pummeling him into a pulp.

" _ **YOU HAD ME FREAKED OUT OVER SOME STUPID WAFFLES?!**_ "

"Ronnie Anne, calm down!" Lincoln cried, vaulting over his chair to take shelter behind it, all while shielding his face from plausibly imminent punches that were incapable of hurting him. "What're you talking ab-"

" _ **SHUT IT, WAFFLEHEAD!**_ "

A perplexed Lincoln instinctually grabbed his temples. "W-wafflehead?!"

His timid, startled reply got Ronnie Anne's temper to recede to a scant degree as her voice lowered, though still conveyed her anger loud and clear.

"That's right! Lincoln Loud and his dumb ol' waffles; nothing else matters, does it?! As long as you're stuffing  _your_  fat face with  _my_  waffles, everything's all hunky-dory in your world! Well, let me tell you something, you…y-you…"

She froze, feeling bile sloshing in her gut as her throat swelled. His fearful look, from behind his desk chair, haunted her, reminded her that her bid to save his friendship was probably all for naught because of her.  _'Please, please, please tell me he doesn't hate me now.'_

"Oh gosh, Lincoln, I'm…" she choked and clenched her eyes shut when the sting of tears burned her pupils. "…I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

It was a lie; she at least had an inkling of what came over her but even in the wrong, she'd rather pull out her teeth than endure the indignity of revealing the truth of the matter; both to Lincoln and to  _herself_.

"Yeah,  _I'll_  say!" Lincoln cried exasperatedly as he sat back down on his chair. "Ronnie Anne, what the heck was all  _that_  about?!"

Her mind searched for the least embarrassing alternative possible but the unadulterated honesty was all that confronted her:  _"Hey, Lincoln. So yeah, get this, I thought that you were trying to tell me that you loved me yesterday, and I was freaking out about it because I totally don't feel that same way, right? Well, now that I know what you were really trying to tell me, instead of being happy, I'm kinda peeved about it and I don't want to know why! Why?! Because it might not have been what I wanted after all!"_

Ronnie Anne opened her eyes to look at Lincoln. Fortunately, this action resulted in two comforting revelations:

One, tears didn't come falling out. She already looked pathetic enough  _without_  tears.

Two, despite having every right to be irate with her, Lincoln didn't look the least bit angry. Perturbed? Yes. Concerned? Definitely. But angry? No, and it was a testament to how forgiving and patient Lincoln could be with the people he cared about.

But even then, she wouldn't compensate his endurance with honesty. It was a hard pill to swallow, her selfishness, though the self-serving voice behind her Id told her that avoiding such awkward circumstances was worth his dissatisfaction.

"Look, can I not say it, please?" Ronnie Anne begged. "It was all a misunderstanding and I took it out on you. Can we both just agree that I was being a jerk and call it a day?"

Bated breath seized her lungs as Lincoln looked back at her pensively, his gaze not allowing her to look away.

"You know, if I wasn't such a marshmallow, I'd wouldn't let it go until you told me." The hardened look melted as his lips formed a soothing smile. "Basically, you're lucky I'm letting you off the hook."

She let out a breath and sighed. "Thanks, Lincoln. And again, I'm sorry about that rant. I'll explain everything one day, alright?"

Yeah, that "one day" would be when she was old, gray, and bedridden but she'd still do it.

"Deal," Lincoln said.

After this was all over, Ronnie Anne wouldn't have any other choice but to unravel her conflicted emotions after everything that had happened just now but there was still something that was eating at her; an itch that only Lincoln could scratch.

"But wait, why couldn't you tell me that you liked my waffles before now?"

Lincoln laughed forcibly and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, even though I asked you for the recipe, I didn't give your waffles the appreciation it deserved. I was kind of afraid of telling you how I  _really_  felt about them because I thought you'd get on me for being mushy for complimenting your cooking."

A faint blush surged across his face as the corner of his mouth twitched in a shy grin. "And well, I also didn't want to come across like I was doting on you. I mean, you're a really cool friend and all but  _just_  a friend."

She swallowed down the pang of displeasure that comment brought, blaming it on mixed-up feelings that didn't need to be dug further than surface level…

Ugh, but not even  _that_  felt right on the money. What  _was_  this?

"In hindsight," Lincoln continued to say, "I really shouldn't have treated it like a big deal or anything, but I just wanted to set the record straight, y'know? And well, despite the… _pretty_  big bump in the road just now, I'm glad I let you know."

"So that's it, huh?" Ronnie Anne asked, catching herself before she could allow despondency to bleed through her forced neutral tone. "You just wanted to tell me how good my waffles are?"

Lincoln nodded. "That's the long and short of it, yeah."

"Oh."

It felt right to sigh, so Ronnie Anne did. She felt like she just went through half a season's worth of  _Dream Boat_ drama in less than ten minutes.

On top of that, no matter how much she forced herself to try and celebrate what she was supposed to call a victory, she just couldn't do so without feeling insincere.

"Is something wrong, Ronnie Anne?" Lincoln asked as he noted Ronnie Anne's silence and introspection.

Her bowed head shot up. "Nothing. It's just…"

Just what? She was still trying to understand what "it" was supposed to be; what "it" should mean for her, what "it" should mean for Lincoln, and what "it" should mean for their friendship. How could she even hope to be in a position to help him know if she couldn't, or didn't, want to know?

But what was most certain, among all things, was the simple truth that made her smile unabashedly, cheesiness and all. "I really miss you, Lincoln."

A return of sentiments nor a shy recoil greeted Ronnie Anne's statement, much like she had expected (and hoped); a smirk laid his intentions bare.

"Now look who's being the marshmallow," Lincoln teased, wagging his eyebrows.

Ronnie Anne was besides herself, but she couldn't help but guffaw at his brazenness. Still, in the bantering department, he was but a fragile grasshopper that was getting too big for his britches.

She'd gladly show him up.

"Oh, shut up, Lame-O!" Ronnie Anne countered with a haughty smirk of her own. "At least  _I_  wasn't getting cold feet over waffles!"

She guffawed heartily when his face lit up like a Christmas tree, but felt even better with herself when he joined in.

' _Way to take it in stride,'_  Ronnie Anne thought to herself as her peals of laughter continued.

But another reason spurred her merriment; she was secure in the knowledge that she wasn't about to lose Lincoln and through the uncertainty of her unnecessary dilemma, she hadn't lost herself in the maze.

From this one simple moment, clarity was achieved and certainty was obtained; she loved Lincoln as a friend…

…but she loved the idea of there being a chance for even more than that one day. And for whatever reason, whether it be hope or instinct guiding her optimism, she had a gut feeling that Lincoln felt the same way, too.


End file.
